A Mother’s Prayer for Her Son

He’s a melting pot of the men before him, this little boy of mine, the one who split my heart wide open fifteen moons ago. This morning, I sit here watching him tinker with a wooden toy handcrafted by my grandfather when I was young, and as the sun casts a long line across his face, I wonder what kind of man my son will become. Certainly he has all the makings of a handsome one – his daddy’s chin, his uncle’s ears, his grandfather’s skin – but good looks can only carry him so far, and every mother wants her child to soar beyond the stars.

Maybe his great-grandfather’s hands, strong and talented with tools, will help take him there. Or maybe it will be his grandpa’s knack with numbers. It could be my father’s way with people, my brothers’ love of country, or an uncle’s gift with a camera. Or maybe he will be like his own father, nurturing and wise, offering patients a hefty dose of healing with his time, teaching, and touch.

He has plenty of things going for him, this tiny man-in-the-making, a proud heritage weighs heavily on his side. But likewise, the closets of his ancestors are full, the hinges loose and the doors liable to spill out all sorts of spiritual maladies: addictions, abuse, suicide, bigotry. They echo through the corridor of his history, and it keeps a mother on her knees.

I pray for him every day, that he will overcome the sins of the past, the ones that some say are generational, and I believe that if God is for him, then who, or what –ism, can be against him?

But sometimes I lose heart and think it will take a miracle, and in his short life, he’s already been a benefactor, his very existence causing those close to marvel at the blessed absurdity of it. And I wonder, is there a limit? Is it too much to ask for another?

But before I bow my head to bang on heaven’s door, I read:

“Yielding to Jesus will break every form of slavery in a human life.” – Oswald Chambers

And I know this is true. I’ve walked around in its shoes. Like my relatives, I, too, have struggled against life-dominating powers, bond-slaved to bad habits, chained to the walls of those haunted hallways. But when I finally hit what some would call rock bottom, I looked up and asked Jesus to set me free, and He did.

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners (Isaiah 61:1).

So instead of praying for another miracle this morning, I pray for faith for my son, and my prayer for him sounds something like this:

Lord Jesus, I pray someday soon my son will hear the Good News and believe it, that he will open up the door of his heart and invite You, the Only One capable of healing it, inside. And when he does, when my baby boy accepts the chain-breaking, freedom-bringing gift of Your Redemption, I believe that You Who made human genes can transform his. In Your Name I pray, Amen.

I googled a mothers prayer for her son this morning because I am having challenges reassign my teenage boy. I found this and it brought me to tears. You have blessed me this AM and I humbly thank you for exposing this part of your soul. God Bless you wise stranger. God bless you.